Caesar spent the day right where Xena had left him, chained to the base of her Dragon Throne, dozing fitfully while he waited for her to return. Though no one ever spoke to him, he could see quite a lot simply by observing from his vantage point in the middle of the assembly square; he could witness all the traffic along the main arteries of Xena's encampment—supply wagons, patrols, columns and lines of prisoners. He didn't bother to pay attention that closely; he had seen it all many times before, traveling with Xena's army, so he slept. Shortly after midday, after he had heard Xena's departure, he saw that ridiculous blonde girl step hesitantly into the square; she stopped Krannax, Xena's short, scarred master healer, and spoke to him. Caesar was too far away to hear what she said to him, but he could tell Krannax didn't like it; the man shook his head with a scowl and started past her. The girl caught him by the arm and said something to him again; he listened, not looking happy, but at last gave a curt nod and started off, with the blonde girl following at his heels. Caesar wondered without much interest where she was going; he shifted against the bottom step of Xena's throne, feeling the warmth of the sun, and leaned his head on his arms, waiting.
Xena usually returned around mid to late afternoon, but as the sun sank toward evening there was still no sign of her, or the force she had led out. If it had been almost anyone else she had gone to challenge, Caesar would not have been concerned—but he had heard as she rode out that she was going to engage Callisto. As the shadows crept across the ground, he began to keep one ear open for her, not truly worried yet—he was expecting to hear Argo's hoofbeats at any moment, to look up and see Xena cantering up the center lane.
She didn't come. And as the darkness of evening began to settle over the encampment, her men finally started returning, in a trickle—one by one, then by twos and threes, bloodstained and exhausted, injured and covered with dust and defeat.
So many missing…. Caesar raised himself on his arms, peering through the gloom. The chain at his collar clinked, and his legs ached at the change in position, but he ignored it. The slow trickle continued, showing no signs of increasing. Where are the rest of them? he wondered, suddenly feeling cold. Where—
It meant nothing, of course, he told himself as a line of riderless horses with blood-stained saddles, some with corpses slung over their backs, was led past his resting place; the man at the head of the line spared him not so much as a glance. It meant nothing. Xena might have lost, certainly—after all, it was the Bright Warrior she had been facing, and it was true that either the Bright Warrior or She of the Djinn was a match for her. But losing a battle to either of them did not necessarily mean catastrophe, and by no means meant that she had been killed. She can't be dead, he thought to himself, scanning the square through the lowering dusk, searching for any sign of her. She can't be dead. I'd know it if she were. I'd feel it. I know my destiny, and she's a part of it. It is not my fate to die here and now, and neither is it hers. But the line of defeated men grew longer and longer, and there was still no sign of her.
He had almost come to the conclusion that she had in fact been killed when he heard Argo's hoofbeats. Shortly after that, the golden mare herself came into sight, with Xena on her back, looking exhausted and dirty; she rode slumped over the saddle horn as if she were keeping herself on Argo's back with difficulty. Her eyes flickered in his direction when she rode past. Caesar raised himself on his arms to watch her go, then settled back down, more relieved than he cared to admit, and angry with her as well—Would it have killed her to send a messenger back to the camp to alert her troops that she'd survived?
He knew she would summon him that night, and he was not disappointed; indeed, the guards came to unlock his chain within the hour. When he was led in to her, he watched her cautiously, not sure in what sort of mood he would find her; she was often ardent after battle, but not after a loss such as it seemed this one had been.
She said nothing, but simply affixed his chain to the stone block in the corner. Then turned to stare at him, in the oil lamplight. He shifted uneasily, disturbed by her expression. She certainly did not look ardent. She didn't even seem to be seeing him at all, and he guessed her mind was a mile away. She looked tired, and very, very depressed. "What?" Caesar demanded after a moment.
She still said nothing. After a moment, she came and knelt on the floor beside him. Her eyes were shadowed, distant. She drew him into her arms, simply holding him—he might have been a dog, or a pillow, or some other inanimate object. When he tried to push away from her, she hurt him, her hands digging cruelly into his flesh until he stopped resisting. She held him for a long time, rocking them both gently; he felt her fingers brush the back of his neck, just above the iron collar. Her arms were tight around him. Despite that, she did not seem to see him. It was as if he weren't even there, and she was alone in the room. That thought gave him chills, and he wondered what she was thinking of.
"How bad was it?" he asked after a time, more to see if she would answer him than for any other reason.
Xena was silent for a long, long while. He had almost concluded that she would not answer, until she did. "Pretty bad." Her voice was quiet. "For a while I thought….that I wasn't gonna get out of there. Callisto…." She trailed off. Then shifted, pushing him away from her. He saw her wince in the light from the oil lamp.
"You're injured."
"I'll be all right." She sat back and now he could see it—her upper arm was blood-streaked, and had been wrapped in a not-particularly-clean bandage.
"Let me see—" He started to reach for her with his chained hands. Xena scowled and slapped him away.
"I said, I'd be all right. It's just a scratch."
"If it festers and you die—"
"I'm not going to die from a little graze," she said scornfully. "Besides, why do you care if I live or die, slave?" The distance had gone from her blue eyes; as she looked at him they were bright, jeering.
He twitched, stung. "Because if you die," he said in anger, "I'll be thrown on your pyre. You've told me that often enough."
Xena looked at him for a long moment, her face expressionless. "I guess I have." She turned away, settling back on her arms against the fur rug; she said nothing more, but her mouth had a hint of a curl to it, and she did not reach for him again, though he waited for her. Instead she took a bottle of wine from her belt, uncorked it, and swallowed some. He watched her, waiting for whatever she might come up with next.
After a few more gulps, it came; she gripped his chain and pulled him roughly toward her. Her hands were rough and hurting; there was no trace of affection, gentleness, or tenderness in her touch, but only a desire to injure. He managed to break her grip and shoved her away again, hard. "Stop it," he snarled at her.
This time, she did not strike him. Instead, her face darkened rapidly. Her eyes seemed lightless, as if a veil had come down behind them, cutting them off. Her words were a low rumble. "What did I tell you about denying me?"
"I don't care." He glared at her, defiant.
"I can make you care…."
The atmosphere in the tent was changing rapidly, darkening, growing colder by the minute. Xena's charisma was overwhelming, the sense of the Dark Conqueror filling the air, pushing at him, drowning him. Nevertheless, he held his ground. He had to. He had learned, both from observation and painful experience, that when Xena was in this mood, backing down from her always ended in disaster. The afterlife was full of others who had not learned this lesson.
"No. You can't."
That was a lie. He knew, again from painful experience, that she could make him care, very much indeed. Still he held her gaze squarely. He would not look away, for to do so would only make it worse.
The blows, when they came, were so blindingly fast that he could make no defense against them. They were stunning. It felt as if an explosive charge had been set off in his jaw, and for a brief moment he blanked out as white light burst behind his eyes. Then the ground jarred under him as the Destroyer of Nations threw him backward, and he hit the dirt floor hard enough to rattle his teeth. He saw her move, rising to her full height; she loomed huge and dark in his blurred vision. When he blinked the cloudiness from his eyes, he froze, awed by the almost divine intensity of emotion in the Dark Conqueror's face. It took his breath away.
"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" she raged at him. Her eyes were utterly lightless, her face twisted in either anger or pain. "YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"
"Xena, what are you—"
"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!"
"Xena, what do you want me to do!" he shouted.
She stared at him. Slowly, her anger seemed to drain out of her; the emotion he had seen in her face was gone as she looked at him, and she seemed to return to her earlier state of depression. "Shut up." She sank back down to the floor, pulling at her wine jug; Caesar breathed more easily. The moment of imminent danger had passed, though tension still hung in the air.
"You're useless, slave." Xena said dully, staring at him. She did not seem to be speaking to him, so much as to herself. "Useless." She took another swallow of wine. "Why'd I even bother to take you in the first place?"
"I'm sure I can't imagine," he responded, not troubling to hide the sarcasm in his voice.
"It was that or kill ya. You should be grateful." Xena did not sound like she cared.
"Why didn't you kill me?" he threw at her scornfully.
Her frown deepened. "Shut up," she said again, and pulled at her wine jug, looking morose and irritable. Another swallow. She stared at him dully. "You're no good," she said after a time. "I want—"
Xena broke off there, and closed her eyes. A look of deep pain crossed her face.
"What?"
She was silent for a long time. He saw her throat work as she swallowed. "I want…." She drew a breath. "I want that bard. That Gabrielle. I want her."
Her voice vibrated so keenly that Caesar winced. Xena went on, ignoring him, the words spilling out of her like water. "She told me stories. Just little stories, but….She told me stories about her mother. She had such a great mother, always lookin' after her—She had a father too. She told me about her father, about Potedaia—that's the name of her home village, Potedaia—she told me about her sister, Lila, and the stuff they did when they were kids—"
Caesar looked away. "Xena, stop it."
"Lila. That was the name of her sister. She used to tease her, kinda like me and my brothers. I never had a sister. I wish—" She drew a long, shaky breath. The ache in her voice was almost palpable.
"Xena, please stop. I can't stand to listen to you when you get like this." He paused. "It's boring, for one thing."
"I want that bard, Gabrielle—"
"Then for the gods' sake, send for her, and send me back!" Caesar didn't bother to try to conceal his frustration. "At least if you're boring her, I won't have to listen to you." Quickly he tried to remember if Xena had acted like this with any of the rest of her girls. He couldn't remember another one. Of course, she had come off worst in a confrontation with Callisto on the same day as her mother's death at Callisto's hands.
Xena sat back, looking at him. She did not look happy. "All right. I will."
"Fine." He glared at her, settling back down on the rug beneath him. Xena seemed, if anything, less pleased than before. Good.
It took some time for the girl to arrive in response to her summons; Caesar expected Xena to become angry, but she simply dropped into one of the chairs at the table in the middle of the room and continued to drink, brooding morosely. By the time the tent flap was brushed aside and the girl stepped in, Xena had gotten through half the wine bottle and looked definitely the worse for it.
"There y'are, Gabrielle," she greeted her with a look. "Certainly took you long enough. What'd you do, come all the way from Ch'in?"
The girl threw Caesar a glance, looking confused and surprised at once; he met her gaze coldly until she looked away. She swallowed, and looked Xena over, as if sizing her up. "You sent for me?" she asked warily.
"Yeah," the Dark Conqueror slurred. "I'm feeling bad and I want you to make me feel better, understand?" She waved one hand at Caesar unsteadily. "He's not helping at all," she slurred, "so let's see if you can do any better."
"You…want me….to make you feel better?" the girl asked, looking confused.
"Yeah. Didn'tcha hear me?" the Dark Conqueror slurred. "You—You said you were a healer. Heal," she slurred. "Cant'cha heal….heal minds as well as bodies?"
"Xena—"
"Tell me a story, 'r something. Like the ones you were tellin' me earlier today. Tell me one of those. Or somethin' like that. Or are you tellin' me no?"
The girl looked even more confused. She threw another glance at Caesar, who shook his head once. What are you looking at me for? he wondered. I can't help you now. Even if I wanted to.
"Come on. Start talkin'. Tell me a story." Xena continued.
"What would you like to hear?" the girl asked.
"What you were tellin' me before. About your mom. Tell me about that."
The Dark Conqueror's voice had gone quiet, plaintive around the edges. It vibrated with that keen ache that Caesar had heard in it before. He looked at the girl, because it was easier than looking at Xena, and stopped there—the girl was watching Xena with a strange expression, one he hadn't seen on any of Xena's other girls. It was a look of—what is that? he wondered. It looked like….compassion, was the only word he could think of.
"All right," that foolish bard said quietly. "I'll tell you." She glanced at Caesar again, then seemed to put him out of her mind. Caesar, who had no intention of listening to a stupid bard tell boring stories about her peasant family, curled up against the stone block that held his chain and half-drowsed while the girl spoke. From time to time he would rouse himself enough to glance at Xena; while her face was set in that impenetrable mask, he knew her well enough to know that she was listening with rapt attention. Snatches of their conversation came to him as he drowsed…the girl's clear voice; Xena's strong tones, slurred with wine. Once or twice, he thought he heard Xena laugh—he hadn't heard her laugh like that in a long time.
He drifted off eventually, falling into a strange half-dreaming state as he listened to their entwined voices; it wasn't until he heard the footsteps and the jingling armor of a sentry approaching that he roused himself again. A gust of cold air washed over him, and he lifted his head to see one of Xena's personal guard at the doorway of the tent, almost lost in the shadows of the night outside.
"My lady?"
Xena was flushed with wine, he saw, looking at her, obviously the worse for wear, but she held enough of herself to look up and respond to the sentry's question. "Yeah, what is it, Darius?" she slurred. "Can'tcha see yer interruptin me an' my friend Gabrielle here." Caesar's eyes went to that ridiculous blonde girl, sitting at the other end of the table; she had fallen silent but was watching Xena and the sentry carefully, he observed.
"Dagnon sent me to you with a question," the sentry responded. Caesar could not see his expression in the dark, but could hear that Darius was being cautious; though not as bad as Callisto the Fiery, everyone in the army knew that there were times it was best to tread lightly around the Daughter of War. "About the remaining Athenian prisoners. The ones that haven't yet been crucified—the women and children. Dagnon wants to know if you want to reserve them for possible ransom."
Interesting. The Dark Conqueror had only given the order to crucify the leaders of Athens, Caesar remembered; she had not given word on what to do with the rest of them. Caesar had wondered if she had planned to sell them into slavery—she had dealt with Salmoneus the Slaver Lord more than once in the past. Of course, he mused, looking at Xena's half-lidded eyes, whatever her plans for them had been, he doubted she would remember them at present….
"Oh. Those prisoners?" She paused, blinking, seeming to search her thoughts. "Oh. Yeah. Kill 'em all," she slurred with a wave of her hand. "I got no use for 'em, an' Athens did defy me after all….Kill 'em all."
"How, my lady?"
"Eh. Yer choice. Beheading, crucifyin' 'em, burnin' 'em to death—" She paused. "Not burning," she amended after a moment. "But any way else. Whatever ya want." She waved her hand.
"As you wish, my queen. I will relay the order."
The tent flap closed in another breath of cold air, as the guard was gone into the night. Xena had turned back to her winecup, starting to drink again, but stopped. Her bleary eyes went to the bard, where she sat against the wall. Caesar stopped and looked in that direction too. The bard was staring at the Destroyer of Nations, and the look on her face was something close to shock. He didn't have to see Xena's expression to know this was not good. Foolish girl.
"Yer judgin me."
Now, Caesar lifted his head, hearing the rattle of the chain attached to his iron collar, and looked over at Xena; the Dark Conqueror sat, slouched and deadly, at the table in the center of the tent. Her expression was blurred with drink, and her eyes half-lidded, but the slow aura of menace that hung around her reached all the way over where he lay curled in the corner, against the heavy stone block to which his chain was attached. He drew back into the shadows, and hoped the girl would have the sense to avoid angering her further. After the stress of the day waiting for her to come in, and the confrontation earlier, he didn't know if he could take any more. Not tonight, he thought sourly. Just, not tonight.
The girl, he observed however, didn't seem to have the sense the gods gave a goat; she actually spoke up for herself. "Judging you? Xena, what do you—"
"You heard me. Yer judgin me," the Dark Conqueror slurred menacingly, turning her icy stare on the young blonde. "Cause of what I said for them to do with those prisoners. Sure you are. I c'n feel it from here." An air of deadliness was beginning to manifest around her, an almost palpable chill. The single candle flame that guttered on the table seemed very thin and weak; the darkness at the edges pressing closely around the two. The white raiment that Xena had provided that blonde girl stood out so brightly it seemed almost to shine against the gloom. Caesar saw that Xena's perfect face had contorted into a cold sneer, and drew back further.
"Xena, I don't understand what you—" the girl began. Somehow it gave him chills to hear that girl call the Daughter of War by her name. That was something that even he was cautious about doing.
"Yer judgin me!" The words were a snarl. "You think yer so high an' mighty, sittin over there. Yeah, I tol' the guards ta kill them prisoners. Sure I did. So what. They've got no value to me alive, an' dead, they go to show the world what happens when ya mess with the Destroyer of Nations. You got no call ta sit over there and look at me like ya think I'm somethin' lower than dirt!"
Plead, girl. Plead for mercy, Caesar thought. He had seen Xena in this sort of mood before. When it was directed at him, he never escaped without blows, and he counted himself fortunate; when it was directed at others, those others often ended up dead or worse. Not tonight, he thought again. He was simply too tired to deal with it tonight. Plead. Beg. Grovel. Do whatever it takes, girl, because if Xena…
And the girl once again proved how intelligent she wasn't by continuing to attempt to contest her position. "Xena, I'm sorry, I don't understand—what do you think I'm doing?"
"What do I—Yer judgin' me! Yer sittin there starin with those eyes like I'm some kinda monster or somethin'!" He saw Xena push her chair back as she got unsteadily to her feet, and winced inwardly, waiting for the screaming to begin. "You think yer so pure an' clean—Git down offa that high horse!" she snarled furiously.
"Xena, I don't understand, I don't even have a horse!"
And now Caesar saw something that surprised him—Xena stopped, swaying a little in the candlelight, facing the blonde girl. The drunken sneer on her face faded, to be replaced by confusion, as in her impaired mental state she tried to work through what the girl had said. Frowning vaguely, she took a step back, then another one, and retreated to her chair, dropping into it as if she couldn't remember why she had risen. As he saw the girl close her eyes with relief, Caesar grudgingly admitted to himself that that had been a neat save on her part. He had rarely seen someone able to manipulate Xena like that. Perhaps that little bard was smarter than he had thought.
Then again, perhaps not. As Xena reached out to the bottle of wine before her, the girl—showing far more courage than sense—came forward and gently laid her hands on Xena's shoulders. Knowing how little the Dark Conqueror liked to be touched, he waited for her to turn and knock the girl through the tent wall, but Xena only poured herself another cup of wine and took a gulp.
"That feels good," she mumbled after a moment, as the blonde girl gently began to rub her shoulders. The girl smiled at her, and Caesar could see—but he doubted, in her present state, that Xena could—the edge of fear in that smile.
"You know, Xena," the girl said softly, persuasively, "it sounds like those prisoners are really bothering you for some reason. Whatever it might be."
Xena turned and scowled up at her with a hint of her previous black mood. "Whaddaya—" The girl pushed Xena's head straight again with hands that trembled slightly and began to work on her neck.
"I wasn't judging you, you know. How could I have been? I hadn't done or said anything. If you wanted them dead," she murmured softly, "well, I'm sure you must have had your reasons. After all, who am I to judge the Warrior Princess?"
"Yer damn straight," Xena mumbled. Her eyes drifted closed under the girl's ministrations.
"But it just sounds to me like those prisoners were bothering you for some reason. So if I could make a suggestion?" She paused politely, clearly waiting for Xena's permission to continue.
"…Go ahead."
"Maybe you could try letting them go, and that would get them off your mind."
"Let them go?" Xena straightened, turning on the girl. Immediately, the blonde backed off, holding up her hands.
"Well, now, hear me out," she pleaded, "just hear me out. If you thought I was judging you when I wasn't—and I wasn't—then maybe there's something about this particular batch of prisoners that bothers you. If you kill them, that's kind of a waste—you said yourself that these prisoners are of no value to you, but they might become valuable later on, who knows? If you let them go, then you don't have to deal with them and—and—" she held up a finger and instantly made the very short list of people Caesar had seen who dared to interrupt the Dark Conqueror—and, even more impressive, lived to tell about it "—you can catch them again whenever you want, if you decide you need them. So how does that sound? Better than simply killing them off, right?"
Xena stared at the girl as if she had suddenly spoken in a foreign language. She blinked, and he could see the labored operation of the wheels in her head as she tried to work through what the blonde had said. "Yeah," she said after a moment, clearly considering. "Yeah. That could work. Yeah. Let 'em go, and catch 'em if I need 'em again. Yeah," she said again, turning the idea over. "Okay. Why not. Yeah, that's what I'll do. You go tell the guard."
"Right away," the blonde said, and was gone to the guard at the tent flap while Caesar was still trying to figure out what had happened himself. Could this ridiculous girl actually have managed to stop Xena from— He couldn't believe it.
"Yer a smart girl, Gabrielle," Xena was mumbling when the blonde returned. "Yer really smart, thinkin' a somethin' like that. Here. Have some wine."
"I don't normally—"
"Aw, c'mon," Xena wheedled, opening her blue eyes. "Jus' this once. C'mon."
"Well, if you insist…." The girl took the cup Xena was holding out to her. Perhaps she's not as stupid as all that, Caesar thought, for the girl only took a small sip and set it back down on the table, clearly wanting to keep a clear head.
"Smart girl," Xena mumbled again. "Such a smart one, you are…. C'mere an' rub my shoulders again, like ya were doing."
"All right." The blonde came forward to do that, gently massaging the Dark Conqueror's broad shoulders. Xena sighed heavily and gulped some more wine.
"That's nice. Keep doin' that."
"If you want me to." For a moment there was silence in the tent, as the blonde girl worked on Xena's shoulders and Xena drank, her blue eyes half-lidded sleepily. Caesar was surprised—it seemed as if this girl had managed to defuse Xena's deadly temper all by herself. He hadn't seen that in a long time, if ever.
"Say, y'ever hear of this priestess Alti?"
"I'm sorry?" the girl murmured, bent over Xena's back.
"This ol' priestess Alti….crazy ol' witch….found 'er up north, up on the steppes. You remember, don'cha, slave?" she asked, gesturing vaguely in his direction. He made no response, watching silently; he did remember Alti, a barbaric shamaness in hides and feathers, who had walked like she owned the encampment and had looked on everyone and everything as if she knew things about them that they themselves did not know. She had seemed particularly amused whenever she saw him, he remembered sullenly. He had never found out the reason for that amusement.
"Yeah," Xena was continuing on with no interruption. "Crazy ol' priestess….she c'd see the future, she claimed she….claimed she….claimed she c'd see everything that had ever happened and that could ever happen….She was with us for—for—how long was it, slave?" she asked him, looking over at him in clouded confusion. Again, he made no reply, simply watching. Xena frowned vaguely. "Musta been—maybe even a whole year. Yeah, a year, at least….finally got tired of listenin' ta her nonsense an' had her crucified, but she tol' me the funniest thing….She said—get this, she said I had a soulmate." She turned and looked over her shoulder at the blonde. "A soulmate, can ya believe that? Ya ever heard anything like that before?"
The girl nodded, and gave an uncertain smile. "The bards say," she said after a moment, "that a long time ago, in ages long past, all the people in the world had four legs and two heads, and were in perfect harmony. But the gods envied our joy and happiness, and threw down thunderbolts from the heavens to split us apart. And ever since then, we go through life in misery and suffering, searching forever for our other half."
"'S a nice story," Xena murmured. "'S a good story you tell, Gabrielle. I thought….thought it was the craziest thing, can ya believe it? That ol' priestess, tellin' me I had a soulmate….that there was someone out there, someone born jus' ta love only me. No matter what, c'n ya imagine that? In spite of everything, think about it— Someone born ta love me?" she slurred, looking up over her shoulder. The girl had stilled and was looking down at Xena, with a strange expression. Xena's eyes were too bright in the dim light from the candle, and Caesar could not name the look on her face. He could not say how, but suddenly there was an odd, pregnant stillness between the two women, a strange, potent force from which he was excluded. The two of them stood out sharply in the candlelight, seeming somehow more real than the table, or the dirt of the floor, or the tent walls.
"I thought it was the funniest thing," Xena continued in that stillness. "He thought it was the funniest thing, didn'tcha, slave?" she slurred with a wave in his direction. "Didn'tcha?" she asked, glancing at him for his response. "Didn'tcha? Ya tol' me ya did—"
"Leave me out of this," he said sullenly.
"Been lookin for her ever since," Xena mumbled, taking another gulp of wine. "Alti said I hadn't met her yet but that I'd know her when I saw her….said she was younger 'n me….said she was a blonde." She looked up at the girl again in that odd still space. "Thought for a while she might be Callisto….ya ever seen the Bright Warrior fight? Oh, she's good. She's so good," Xena said throatily, and finished off her cup. "There's nobody better'n her. Yeah…thought it might be her for a while….but she….she…." Xena trailed off and closed her eyes; Caesar thought he saw her swallow.
"Is she?" the girl asked quietly.
Xena didn't respond. She poured herself some more wine. That strange air of tension, of potentiality around the two women had not faded. The blonde was looking down at Xena as if there were something she was trying to remember, something she had forgotten. Caesar raised his head, watching them closely, wondering.
The pause dragged out. Xena stared into space for a moment, then with a sudden air of decision, drained the cup. She turned, put her hand over the blonde girl's, and looked up at her. "I think I've found her. I think she's you," she said quietly.
The words hung there in that portentous stillness. Caesar's eyes went to the blonde girl's face, and he saw there an expression almost of—it was hard for him to find a name for it, but a look almost of recognition and acceptance. She bit her lip, then swallowed. She drew a breath, and as if she were summoning up her courage, the girl said, "I think you're right." She gripped Xena's hand tightly.
"You—ya do?" Xena asked, with a smile of relief. "You—ya think—" She drew a breath. "You think yer really—" She gave a high, half-startled laugh, the likes of which he had never heard from the Dark Conqueror before. "You think yer really the one…? The one I…?" She grabbed the girl's hand and pressed it to the side of her face, closing her eyes. Caesar, for his part, found himself both stunned and admiring. Stunned that Xena had been nursing this ridiculous delusion that she had a soulmate for so long, and admiring of the girl's brashness in so quickly attempting to exploit the delusion. It would end badly for her, of that he was certain—as soon as Xena had tired of her—but for the moment, her boldness, her daring were almost….Brilliant, he thought.
"Xena, when I met you I felt something," the girl was saying. "I felt something, I don't know how to describe it, but it was almost as if—as if I'd known you before, somehow, somewhere, I don't know if it makes any sense, but—"
"No, no, it makes perfect sense," Xena was saying, laughing. "It makes perfect sense….Cause that's the same way I felt when I saw you," she said. Her eyes were wet, and she was leaning into the girl's touch. "I found you," she was saying. "I finally found you. After all this time, I finally found you. I found you."
She leaned into the girl's touch for a timeless instant, eyes closed, a look of bliss on her face. Caesar could only watch, utterly amazed to see such an expression on the face of the Daughter of War; what is in that wine? he wondered, unable to come up with any other explanation for it.
Then Xena looked up. "So where were you?"
The girl frowned. She asked, "What?"
"Where were you?" Xena suddenly clamped down on the girl's hand so hard he could see her knuckles show white. Having felt the strength of Xena's grip before, he felt a brief moment of not-quite-sympathy for that stupid girl. "Where were ya? Where have ya been all this time?"
The girl heard the rising hostility in Xena's voice, and tried to back away, but Xena wouldn't let her go. "Xena…" she said, sounding scared. "Xena, I don't—"
"Where have ya been?" Xena demanded, that drunken sneer crawling back over her features. "I been lookin fer ya all this time, so where were ya? Where were ya!" she asked. The words were almost a snarl.
"Xena—Xena, you're scaring me," the girl said. Caesar could hear her voice shake. Ah, here we go. Now the screaming will start, he thought sourly.
Xena was rising from her chair. There was not a trace of unsteadiness in her posture now. Her blue eyes were open all the way, horribly bright with wine and something else, and her hand was locked in a vise-like grip around the girl's wrist. She had bared her teeth at the girl like the animal she was. Her words were not a snarl but a cry. "Where were you?" she cried. "Where were you five years ago, six years ago, ten years ago? Where were you when it might have made some kinda difference? Where were you when it mattered?" she cried. "Where were you when it mattered!"
She threw the girl from her violently; the blonde went tripping back across the tent floor, and collapsed to the ground, shivering. Xena was advancing on her, that demonic expression still on her face, her eyes burning. The girl held up her hands.
"Xena, ten years ago I was nine!" she cried.
And, again, Caesar was stunned to find that it actually worked. Xena stopped where she stood, swaying, looking at the girl; the sneer faded from her face, to be replaced by a look of—what is that? He had never seen that expression from her before. She stared at the girl for a moment as if trying to figure something out, then blinked. She went to Gabrielle's side and knelt down by her, stroking her clumsily.
"I'm sorry, Gabrielle," she was slurring, and to his disbelief he saw that her cheeks were actually wet with tears. He looked away; he'd seen Xena weep before—he was probably the only person alive who had—but there was something so wrong about the sight of Xena crying over this little blonde bit of fluff that he couldn't stand to look at it. "I'm sorry," she was mumbling drunkenly. "I'm so sorry. Never…never meant to hurtcha, you gotta believe me, I'd never wanna do that, not ever. Ah, Gabrielle, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The girl was clearly as unnerved by Xena's sudden show of remorse as he was; he heard her answer unsteadily, "It's all right, it is, really, I—I'm not hurt. I'm just—just—"
Just what? he thought sardonically.
"Just, you startled me. That's all. Honestly, Xena. I'm all right."
"Never meant ta hurtcha, Gabrielle," Xena mumbled again. Her eyes were still too bright. "I'd never wanna do that. 'S just…." She made a half-hearted attempt to smile. "'S just….whydja have ta come now?" she asked, rising from the ground. She wove her unsteady way back to the table, and sloppily poured into her cup again. "Whydja have ta come now, ya know? Now, when it's too late. Too late fer….fer everything. If youda come earlier, I coulda….but 's too late, now, dontcha see? Too late ta change. Too late fer me…. "
The girl hesitantly got to her feet. She moved cautiously closer to where Xena sat, compassion evident in her face. Xena paid her no notice, gulping her cup down and pouring more wine again.
"You know," the blonde said in that same quiet voice, "it doesn't have to be too late…." She offered a hesitant smile. "I…I believe that anyone can change. Every minute of every day, each person has the chance to change their life, to remake it into something better than it was before—"
Does she really believe that? Caesar spared a moment to wonder distantly at the depth of this girl's naivete.
"Anyone can change," the girl said again, smiling. "All you have to do is want to."
Xena didn't answer. She set down her cup, and was staring into the distance, a strange unfocused look in her pale blue eyes. The girl looked at her, then swallowed. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out a hand. Xena seemed to take no notice of her. The girl drew closer, and gently laid her hand on Xena's shoulder. Xena went still for a moment. She closed her eyes as the girl touched her, and drew a deep, shaking breath. "Anyone can change…" he thought he heard her whisper. The moment stretched out….
Then Xena's face twisted into a snarl of rage. With a cry, she surged to her feet and whirled on the girl, striking her across the face with all her strength. The girl was flung violently backwards to sprawl on the ground, her hair falling in her face, her slender shoulders heaving as she drew breath after gasping breath. Xena glowered down at her, her face still twisted into that drunken snarl.
"Get outta my tent."
The words were a low growl. The blonde lifted her head, looking up at Xena, seeing her burning eyes. Her gaze went then to Caesar, where he lay curled in the corner against the stone block. What are you looking at me for? he thought, and shrugged. Slowly, head down, the blonde got to her feet; holding one hand to the side of her head, she made her way to the tent flap. Xena stared after her, long after the blonde had lifted the flap and stepped outside. Her ragged breathing was loud in the air. That blonde got off lightly. Usually when she's in this kind of mood….
Xena turned back to the table, where the single candle burned. Her gaze fell upon him, and he cursed inwardly, tensing for whatever might come next. Xena glowered at him for a moment.
"What're you lookin at….Slave?" The words were a low snarl. The darkness crowded closely around her; her eyes were half-lidded, but he could see a glow deep within them.
Caesar said nothing, watching her warily.
Xena glared at him a while longer. Her mouth had an ugly twist to it. "You think yer so much," she sneered drunkenly. "Shoulda killed ya years ago." He was silent, watching her.
Xena glowered at him. One hand reached out to find the bottle; she knocked it over and caught it by its neck. A clumsy gesture shattered the body of the bottle against the table. Wine as red as blood sluiced out over the dirt floor. Xena raised the jagged stump of the wine bottle to her eye level, squinting at it as if she couldn't quite tell what it was. Her breathing was as heavy as that of a lion's in its den. "Maybe I oughtta cut ya," she slurred menacingly. "Mess up that pretty face of yers….gouge out them big dark eyes…." She gestured vaguely in his direction with the sharp stump of the bottle. "I oughtta. I oughtta do it. Howdja like that….Slave?"
"Maybe you ought to cut my throat and be done with it," he replied coldly.
She glared at him for a long moment, weaving on her feet. She looked at the fragment of wine bottle, then back at him, then at the wine bottle. Caesar did not move, but remained tense, waiting. He knew that he had no chance of being able to defend himself against her; she'd proven that to him years ago.
She threw the fragment of the bottle at him. He ducked, and managed to deflect it with his chained hands; the wine had ruined her aim a bit. Xena hissed through her teeth. "Ahhhhhh….shut yer mouth and go ta sleep. I'm sick of listenin ta yer yappin."
She turned her back on him and started to climb into her frame bed, piled high with furs, then stopped and pulled one of the furs out of the pile. She tossed this at him absently, then put out the light, plunging the tent in gloom; he heard the rustle of her climbing into her bed. He had to move forward a little to retrieve the fur she had tossed him; his shattered lower legs throbbed in protest, but he paid it no mind. Spending the night in her tent, instead of out in the cold night chained to the base of that hideous dragon throne, would do his legs no end of good. He pulled it over himself, and rested his head on his arms, listening to the soothing sound of Xena's soft breathing. He was asleep within moments.